Sweet Serial Killer
by sentbyfools
Summary: I wanna taste the way that you bleed; Captain Swan serial killer AU


**title: **sweet serial killer

**summary: **_I wanna taste the way that you bleed_

**notes: **serial killer!AU; I've wanted to write this for a while, but never got around to it. I _love_ first meetings fic, so here, have another one

* * *

She paints her lips cherry red, the wings of her eyeliner blacker than night. She looks like a woman on the hunt, and that is because she is.

There's that My Chemical Romance song playing in her head, and she hums along to the tune of "...blood, blood gallons of the stuff, give them all that they can drink and it'll never be enough." Apt lyrics.

When she enters the bar, all eyes are on her. Her lipstick is smeared now, her eyeliner smudged. She looks like a drunk. She looks down on her luck. She looks like a victim, ripe for the picking.

It is all a ruse to pull them in. Emma Swan is no victim, not anymore.

She settles down at the bar, orders a shot of whiskey, _no_, _make that two_, and searches frantically through her purse for her money. She makes sure her brow furrows just enough to show that she is truly distressed and waits.

One. Two. _Three_.

"Drinks are on me," a distinctly not-American voice says. _British,_ she thinks, but she can't be sure.

"Thank you," she breathes out, grateful smile in place as she looks up to meet his too blue eyes. He's handsome. Gorgeous, even, but there is a rotten core underneath. There always is.

"Rough night?" he asks, peering at her beneath long curling lashes.

Emma gives him her brightest smile. "You don't want to know."

He sits down beside her at the bar, and they chat about nothing and everything, and underneath Emma is having a very different conversation. She makes sure to laugh at all the appropriate intervals, to smile and tell him just enough to keep him on her hook, but while he goes on about his life, Emma wonders how fast his heart will beat beneath her hand as she plunges her blade into his jugular. She wonders if that light will fade from his sea blue eyes, or if she'll have to snuff that out as well.

If there was one thing she has learned from all her foster families it is never to let them see the darkness underneath until the last possible moment. Put on a good face, make sure you have them fooled before you reveal the monster hiding inside.

Emma has taken that lesson to heart.

She is only slightly distracted by the way his mouth rounds his words as he says, "Wanna get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she says, makes sure to flood her voice with relief, _oh so grateful_ that he'd picked her.

They're making out in the alley behind the bar only minutes later, hands fisting in shirts, grinding against each other in a desperate need for friction. _What a waste of a pretty face and a talented mouth,_ Emma thinks as she lets one hand fall to her side and reaches the other behind her to the knife she keeps taped to the small of her back.

"What's wrong?" Emma finds herself asking when he pulls away and creates a few feet of distance between them.

"I know what you are," he says.

A beat passes. Another. They stare each other down, intensity meeting intensity. His eyes bore through her, the light that she thought she saw in them earlier, replaced by a darkness. Emma can imagine that he sees the gaping, bleeding hole where her heart should be as easily as she sees the blackened husk that used to be his.

She was right. He is rotten. Rotten just like her.

The silence seems to encompass their entire beings because even though they can hear the raucous laughter of the bar patrons, it does nothing to break the spell woven between the two of them.

"This isn't Twilight. This is not the part where you call me out, and we fall in love," she says finally.

"Who said anything about love?" he smirks, pauses to cock his head and lick the red of her lipstick off his lips. "We'd make a hell of a team."

Now that's a new one. "Team?"

"Yes, love, a team. Don't tell me the idea doesn't intrigue you," he says.

He's right; it does. Emma has always been a loner. Growing up, she never had any friends. She'd never connected with anyone, not until this very moment when she'd seen the darkness in his eyes and felt her own whispering back.

She fingers the blade at her back. She should end this right here, end this before it goes too far.

"You've never seen my work, and I've never seen yours. To be a team, you have to know what kind of person is at your back," she says.

He chuckles. "I think you already know as well as I do what kind of people we are."

"Say it, say it out loud," Emma teases.

He steps closer to her, closes the distance. In one swift moment, Emma has her blade at his throat. He smiles at her like he knows that she isn't playing. There is no fear in his eyes, and she knows that no desperate pleas will leave his mouth.

"You and I, we're kindred spirits," he says.

He leans in against the knife and it is now or never, slice him open now or forever hold her peace.

His blood drops down her fingers as she takes the blade away. A superficial cut, and he will live. He will live because she wanted him to.

"You're my first," Emma says.

"Hmm?" he says. He swipes his thumb across the cut to his throat, and sucks the droplets of blood off his finger.

"My first survivor," Emma clarifies.

She lets her blade hang loosely at her side, because she just can't trust a man with eyes as soulless as her own.

He moves in, kisses her lips like he is trying to suck the life out of her. When he pulls away, Emma is gasping, heat racing through her like he set her body aflame.

"I'll be your first _and_ your last," he says.

Emma's breath hitches again, this time because of the way his eyes trail across her neck like he is imagining what it would be like to wrap his hands around it and squeeze.

_Just like me_.

"The night's still young," she suggests.

He grins wide, teeth bared in a way that says his bite is worse than his bark.

"And the hunt is on."


End file.
